


The Pinwheel

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Minor Character Death, Sweet, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An afternoon remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pinwheel

A lone woman walks down the path between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. She is pretty enough, redheaded with blue eyes, and she knows she catches the gazes of several men as she goes. She doesn't care. Today, she wears unusual clothes for her-- a simple grey t-shirt, jean shorts, tennis shoes, sunglasses. In one hand she carries a pink plastic bucket, which is full of sundry toy items. A casual observer would simply think she was a mother on the way to play with her child.

They would be wrong, of course. Nothing about this woman is truly visible to the naked eye. She had a child for a moment, but it's dead. And the bucket has nothing to do with the child, and everything to do with another lost person.

She finds a bench that faces the Reflecting Pool and sits down, placing the bucket beside her. Even though she packed it herself, she explores like she'd never seen each item before.

In her mind she takes an inventory. Two silk daisies. A pack of bubble-gum. Bazooka Joe bubblegum at that. Bubbles. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. An apple. A giant chocolate bar. And, of course, the pinwheel.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she opens the bubbles, pulls out the wand, and blows. A few rainbow-colored orbs start to dance in the light breeze, then pop. The woman smiles a little, then stands up and begins to run a little, making more bubbles fly through the air, surrounding her, a cascade of shining things. It makes her laugh at herself, playing at her age.

Oh, well. She runs back, gets her bucket, then gets as close to the pool as she can, and blows more bubbles, waving at all the people who look at her as if she were crazy. And she remembers why she does this.

She'd known forever that he liked her, was attracted to her. It was sweet that he had a crush on her, flattering to be admired again like she were back in eighth grade, blowing bubbles with her gum, twirling her hair, giggling madly when cute guys passed by. But he wasn't her type. He was just a little too geeky, a little too shy and kind. Years of living her dangerous, unpredictable life had sent her tastes toward a darker lover, one whose eyes regarded her on so many levels, one who needed her with a madness she responded to. A man who never touched her and never would.

But on that long-lost day in early February-- he'd been so cute, so dear when he came into her office. His palms were sweaty and his pupils dilated just a little. He'd looked so terrified as he gasped out the words--

"Wouldyouliketogooutonadate?"

She'd been prepared to tell him no, that she thought he was nice and all, but he just wasn't her type. But that desperate look in his face, pleading to her to give him a chance-- she couldn't be that cruel.

"Okay," she'd said. He took a deep breath.

"Oh. Wow! Good! I have something special in mind," he said, breathless and grinning. "Would Saturday afternoon be okay?"

"Sure."

"Great!" he'd said enthusiastically. "Um, wear something casual, like jeans. And be prepared to have fun."

Fun. That had been a lost word from her vocabulary at the time. She'd given him a half-hearted smile and wondered what exactly he had in mind.

Now, sitting on the lawn, her hair teased by the wind, she remembers fun again. It still isn't a major part of her life, more's the pity. But she remembers what it is to have fun, and that's when she sees a vendor selling sodas. An idea crosses her mind and she acts on it. She races up to him, out of breath from this sudden sprint. And giggles at the man, a smile lighting up her beautiful face.

"What'll you have, ma'am?" he asks, surprised by her. A woman of her age, pink-cheeked and grinning like she were ten-- more power to her.

"Strawberry soda, please!" she chirps. "Do you know if there's anyone around who's selling kites?"

"There's not enough breeze for that, ma'am," he tells her.

"I suppose not," she says regretfully. "Are you having fun today?"

He looks confused at the question as she hands him her money and takes the soda. "Fun?"

"I'm having fun," she tells him seriously, and he is again struck by the fact she looks to be about thirty and talks like she's a little girl. Then she waves good-bye and starts skipping-- skipping-- down the path, and good God, is she humming?

He'd been in jeans and a t-shirt when they met at the Monument. She'd been so surprised-- he looked boyish, cuter than she'd expected. She herself was in her typical 'casual' and felt just a teensy bit overdressed for him.

"Hi," he'd said, instantly shy.

"Hi," she replied. "You look nice."

He'd gulped. "Thanks."

"So, what are we doing that's so special?" she asked, smiling at him. His eyes went very wide, but he managed to remember his plan.

"Well, first you have to close your eyes, okay?"

"Okay," she'd agreed. She'd closed her eyes and waited, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

"Now open them."

Slowly, her eyelids had fluttered open to see a small handful of flowers, obviously fake. She looked at him quizzically. He'd smiled and tossed them beside them.

"This is sort of a theme setting thing. You see, we're going to have a theme afternoon."

"A theme afternoon?"

He'd flourished a pink plastic bucket, full to the brim with items. Her confusion must have shown through on her on her face.

"Yes," he said. "None of that icky love stuff. We're just going to have fun. Play. Does that sound good to you?"

"Okay," she said, surprised. He'd burst into delighted laughter.

"Great!" he said. Then he'd leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Tag. You're it!"

Then, like a madman, he'd gone running down the Mall, leaving her to shriek with unexpected laughter and surprise and run after him.

She thinks of him now, and also of her daughter. She would give anything to be able to go chasing down the Mall on this humid, nasty May day, with someone, anyone. She sighs, and attacks her sandwich. It tastes good, sticky peanut butter and grape jelly. She gulps strawberry soda, not being too neat, and that's okay, because she has napkins in the bucket, too.

On that February day, he'd forgotten napkins. They'd had to lick their fingers clean, and that had been all right. Tired out by chasing him and not catching him, they'd settled down in a nice spot and eaten lunch. Her cheeks had been flushed and she was grinning ear to ear. How long had it been since she'd been out on a date that wasn't a date? How long had it been since she'd laughed such throaty, honest laughs?

"You look so pretty," he'd said. "I didn't know you'd look so pretty laughing."

"Well, I guess it's been a while since I've laughed," she admitted. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"This. This is wonderful."

He'd smiled. "Our afternoon is not over yet. I have more presents for you."

"You didn't have to get me anything," she protested. He shook his head and rummaged in the bucket. He'd then presented her with a pinwheel, a shining silver and blue toy that fluttered with the wind.

"And that's just for starters," he'd told her. "When I saw it, I thought of you. It's so bright, and I thought-- I thought it would make you smile."

The same pinwheel is in her hand now. She blows on it, watches it spin and take her back and forth in time, to remember things that make her laugh and make her stop laughing.

She'd nearly cried with laughter when the bubbles he blew with his gum popped and stuck to his face. He'd looked so sheepish, too, so silly, but she is sure she looked funny, too, popping the gum and then trying to get a bigger bubble. They'd played like children, the care slowly easing from her mind. It had been bliss.

That afternoon of fun was as ephemeral as the lazy bubbles she blows today, more than a year later, beautiful but fragile. She will not forget it. She cannot. It is too precious.

They were sitting on a bench, laughing so hard at events. She'd tripped and fallen, running while she'd blown bubbles, and now she was a mess. But she hadn't been this happy in a long time, and as she gasped and laughed and brushed debris out of her hair-- that was when he kissed her.

One soft kiss. It was so gentle, so sweet. She hadn't felt a rush of desire, or a heady surprise. This wasn't the kiss of an ardent lover. This was the kiss of a friend, but not exactly. For a moment she'd felt content, a premonition of a possible future with him. Not mad and wild and exciting like it would be with her other man. Gentle, it would be peaceful and quiet-- and for a moment, she thought maybe this simple happiness could be enough.

Then he'd pulled back.

"You have a nosebleed," he'd said.

Her hand had flown to her nose, and the reality of her life had stolen her away, back into the abyss where life was not fun, it was short and brutal and nasty, and tears had leapt into her eyes. Anxiously, she'd wiped the blood away, looked up at him in helpless despair.

"Oh. I get them sometimes," she'd lied. He couldn't know, not that she was dying. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Dana," and he'd said her name with such care. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she'd replied. "Thank you. Thank you."

She didn't use his name that day. She'd forgotten it, but it hadn't mattered at that point.

"What?" he'd said with surprise. The tears flustered him.

"I told you before, I had fun. This was exactly what I needed," she'd said, fumbling. "And I-- I'd be willing to do it again."

His heart had leapt into his eyes. "Really?"

"Any time," she'd replied. "Any time."

And she'd meant it.

But there had been no repeat of that afternoon. Instead, the next time she'd seen him, in that little bar, his blood had splattered against her, and her worthless life had been preserved again, for no good reason at all.

Life is unfair.

She wipes away just tears today, no blood. She is alive by chance or God's grace. The pinwheel spins in the breeze.

The lone woman stands up, resolved to keep joy in her life as a tribute to the man who reminded her how to laugh, as a tribute to the way she lived on, even when she couldn't understand why she did.

She walks on, through the Mall crowded with tourists, past them all. And she laughs, dreaming of a life where the joy of an afternoon is commonplace, dreaming of a world where fun lasts longer than bubbles.


End file.
